Crouching Ziggy, Hungry Dillon
by Oh So Cliche
Summary: PRRPM - Ziggy and Dillon spar. Ziggy cheats. Dillon is amused. Pre-slash. Oneshot.


**Summary: **_Ziggy and Dillon spar. Ziggy cheats. Dillon is amused._

**AN:** I am really enjoying RPM, much more than I thought I would, mostly because of the boys on the show. I like all of them - but I like these two the most. (Actually, Flynn might win sometimes, but you all understand. It's the accent.)

**Warning(s):** Pre-slash if you squint - and as a person with incredibly horrific eyesight, I do, and frequently. Oh, and _yes_. The title? I went there.

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_crouching ziggy, hungry dillon_

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Ziggy's fighting style could not really be termed a 'style' persay. It was more of a flail. If one was being kind, they could call it a dance of sorts. Dillon was rarely that kind, but there was still something incredibly fascinating about watching Ziggy throw himself around the training room with abandon.

It was almost as if Ziggy had no preconceived notions of how fighting should _look_. He was all awkward angles and floppy arms, but they got the job done. There was nothing self conscious about his movements. There was no vain posing or miniscule self-checks to make sure his form was correct or his lines were right.

_That_ was still a habit he and Flynn were trying to break Summer of. She was all perfect positions and valiant poses and flowing katas. But fighting wasn't perfection. It was action and reaction, movement without thought. She thought way too hard and way too much and it showed. She moved with grace, sure enough, but it was a forced grace, one that comes from practice and not skill.

Watching Ziggy and Summer spar was the highlight of his week.

When Ziggy set his mind on fighting, he aimed to hit, punch, kick and effectively take down whatever was in his path in whatever fashion he could manage. If that meant lunging and flailing and diving headfirst into a fight, then that's what he did. Dillon would never have called Ziggy hardworking before this (after that incident with Dr. K and Ziggy turning the super computer into a games console for a whole afternoon, _no one_ would ever call Ziggy hardworking) but he was dedicated, sure enough.

Summer had no idea how to respond to someone like Ziggy. Both Dillon and Flynn (who had become the unofficial trainers of the group after Scott declared it wasn't going to be his responsibility to see that Ziggy survived his next fight or Summer got off her high horse) took great enjoyment in watching the two go at it.

Summer occasionally fought Flynn, who destroyed her nearly every time. The times when he _didn't _destroy her immediately, he let her catch up a little and _then _proceeded to systematically wipe the floor with her. But that was to be expected. Flynn's weapon (god, was that thing a portable battering ram?) generally leant itself to Flynn having more upper body strength than a cracked out gorilla. Even Dillon had some trouble taking punches from Flynn, who had fists like ham hocks. Scott - who had a clean, sharpness to his moves that Dillon also admired - was fairly evenly matched with Flynn, so they sparred the most often.

After several disastrous rounds of Dillon attempting to spar evenly with everyone, it was decided that he would restrict his sparring to Flynn or Scott. Summer had speed and agility on her side, but she was no match for Dillon at his best. Flynn and Scott really weren't either, but at least they could hold their own for awhile. Ziggy was generally out of the question, but one freak afternoon, Dillon found himself warming up with the Green Ranger and _only_ the Green Ranger.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Dillon asked, raising an eyebrow even as he stretched one arm across his chest. Ziggy looked up from where he'd been attempted to pull his sock off his foot. Dillon's question was clearly too much of a distraction for the other man, who fell over promptly with a resounding thud.

"Totally," Ziggy assured him from the floor. "I mean, I have to get my ass severely whooped sometime. You might as well have the honor." Dillon stared at him for a long moment before shrugging.

"It's your funeral." He offered a hand to Ziggy, who fumbled for it and hauled himself off the floor. "Ready?" When Ziggy nodded, Dillon settled himself into a familiar fighting pose. He started off slowly, moving accurately, but not rapidly. He checked his punches and refrained from taking the openings Ziggy was leaving open. After the third dropped guard, Dillon couldn't take it anymore. "Ziggy," he said exasperatedly, "Watch your goddamn left sid-" Dillon didn't get to finish as Ziggy landed a clean right hook. Dillon's head snapped back and pain flared briefly in his nose before fading away quickly. Dillon blinked. "You just hit me," he said, a bit dumbfounded.

Ziggy flashed a grin. "You got distracted," he replied proudly, like a small child who'd just figured out how to turn on the stove and light stuff on fire. Dillon let out a disbelieving laugh. The kid was finally learning. _If you can't beat your opponent at their own game,_ Dillon had said, about a hundred thousand times, _kick his ass at yours._ And if there was one thing Ziggy was the master of, it was distraction.

The fight went on in this manner for several more minutes, Ziggy flailing and lunging as usual, before Dillon realized he was checking fewer and fewer of his punches and moving at a much more normal speed. He even started enjoying himself, cracking up at some of the incredibly moronic moves Ziggy managed to come up with. A few minutes later, Ziggy was clearly tiring - Dillon's body had barely begun to consider starting to sweat yet - and so rather than draw it out, Dillon struck hard and fast, taking Ziggy down with a quick slice, knocking his feet out from under him.

Ziggy hit the mat hard, but grinning. "So, how was that Obi-Dillon? Getting any better?" Dillon smirked briefly.

"I'd say so, yeah." Dillon offered his hand again and this time Ziggy took it without fumbling. "Watch the elbows though," Dillon said, grasping one of said scrawny elbows and shaking it. "You nearly took my eye out with those toothpicks."

"I'll have you know," Ziggy started, not shaking his elbow out of Dillon's grip, "I have _perfect_ elbows. You will never see a finer elbow than mine. I've even elbow modeled. It was all the rage in the Outer Limits before the Venjix virus. I was in high demand, you know - _everyone_ wanted a piece of Ziggy. I had an impossible schedule to manage and-" Dillon tuned the rest out, smirking nonetheless. Still chattering, Ziggy tugged Dillon by his elbow (presumably to explain why Dillon's elbows were _not_ as perfect as his own) and Dillon followed dutifully out of the training room and towards the kitchen.

Time to figure out if Ziggy could talk and make lunch, because there was no way Dillon was making himself a sandwich when he'd just won a sparring match with the best cook in the house. (Besides Flynn, but Flynn's smoothies were no where close to Ziggy's brownies.)

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_fin_

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**AN:** Just something that came about because of how well I think PR is handling Ziggy's complete inability to fight. And the fact that Dillon's totes in love with Ziggy hardcore. Hee. Oh, and in case you didn't notice, I'm not that fond of Summer. My apologies if you like her, but these things happen. (Plus, I'm totally slash happy with this season, so be on the look out for more from me - Scott/Flynn coming at you!)

-B


End file.
